


50 Turns off the Highway (50 Drabbles)

by SinOfPride



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drabble Collection, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinOfPride/pseuds/SinOfPride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>50 drabbles of 100 words or less. "It could have been worse," Dean said, trying and failing to look like he believed that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	50 Turns off the Highway (50 Drabbles)

**Author's Note:**

> In no particular order, some of these hold incest, sex, violence, prostitution, non-con, dub-con, character death, genderswitch, mental disorders, crack, murder. Vague spoilers through early season 6.

(1)  
It breaks his heart every time. Not that Bobby would consider _not_ going and leaving Dean alone in that place to rot, but it’s a fact that he needs a drink at 9am to make it inside that tall building with the bars on the windows. Still, he goes and sits with Dean, telling lies to the boy he considers a son to keep him smiling in a world that robbed Dean of his family and sanity both, a world with no angels to look over them, no Sam to care for.

(2)  
Heaven or Hell, Dean hardly cares. After living and dying for each other endlessly, they’ve yet to learn how to be okay if one goes anywhere faster than the other can follow. Sam and Dean have battled both sides of the fence and have been promised the afterlife together, soul-mates in the end. The pain lies in between, in denial and goodbyes, bleeding out in a cabin too far from help, Dean’s blood, his pain and stumbling reassurances, Sam’s tears, his arms, their wish to share mortality as well as eternity, a kiss to a bittersweet _I’ll see you soon_.

(3)  
Sam didn't plan on it. One minute he was drinking a beer in silence, not even thinking about anything in particular and the next the beer was on the ground and he had Dean backed against the Impala, the tools his brother had been using discarded with a clatter at their feet. 

Sam didn't say anything and didn't give Dean a chance to try, leaning down and reclaiming those lips he'd missed, memorizing their softness, breathing in the way Dean gave in to him like he'd just been waiting for Sam to ask.

(4)  
"It could have been worse," Dean said, trying and failing to look like he believed that. "I could have had you for breakfast before I figured things out." 

The egg that used to be his brother didn't answer, except to wiggle a little. Dean had to wonder, if it hatched, would a tiny Sammy come out? He shrugged, and drew a smiley face on the egg with a sharpie.

(5)  
It wasn’t strange anymore, driving down the highway at a steady sixty and turning to smile at Dean only to find him looking back with unfathomable green eyes. Then Sam could ignore the road and stare at his brother’s beautiful face, until Dean’s smile would fade and he’d inevitably turn pale and sad, looking down at his red stained T-shirt with too much understanding. Sam would watch him flicker and fade and he’d blink back tears and promise himself that he would burn the amulet he wore after the next hunt, he’d let his brother rest soon, he would. 

(6)  
Castiel accidentally reveals it. 

There’s a demon raping children they need to lure and Castiel says it will be drawn to prior rape victims such as Dean. Dean’s blank face is all the confirmation Sam needs to go past cold incredulity into a heartache so deep he can’t even speak until Dean storms off. Sam learns Dean’s secrets from an angel and when Dean comes back they don’t talk about it. Sam just climbs into Dean’s bed and whispers into his hair how they’ll tear the motherfucker into so many pieces, Hell will be a reprieve. Dean falls asleep smiling.

(7)  
Sam doesn’t mind taking care of his little brother. When Dean needs him, when he’s scared or hurt, when he turns those big green eyes on Sam instead of their Dad for answers and comfort, that’s when Sam’s life feels worthwhile. Who cares that he once killed a fucking werewolf or that his Dad is proud of his knife work, Dean loves him just for being his brother and that’s why Sam starts packing Dean’s bag for him the minute he reads his Stanford acceptance letter.

(8)  
At 21 years old, Dean joins the Marines. Sammy goes to his class’ graduation and for all his hippy pacifism talk he looks damn proud and takes too many pictures of Dean in his uniform. Pastor Jim and Bobby also make it and nobody talks about John’s absence.

Three years later, John is holding one of Sam’s pictures of that day as he watches his oldest son get buried with full military honors. He doesn’t bother saying anything to a devastated Sam as he goes to make a deal to put things right. 

(9)  
One of the days that John's certain he doesn't know what he's doing to his children is when he comes home to find he missed Sam's first word. Dean promptly lies to tell him it was 'dada' only to be interrupted by a screeching cry for 'Dee'.

(10)  
When Sam tried to call him a week before the wedding, Dean’s phone was disconnected, same as Dad’s. Sam wasn’t surprised or disappointed, or so he told himself during the ceremony with the wrong best man and no family to wish him well. When his son was born a year later, Sam tried harder and learned from Bobby that Caleb, Pastor Jim and his father were dead and his brother had been missing for years. Only six months later, when Sam walked into his son’s burning nursery to find Dean smiling at him with yellow eyes, did Sam finally cry.

(11)  
Sam had expected the anger and accusations, but the haze of whiskey in John’s eyes and the throbbing pain of his fist on his face had been unexpected. From the ground he’d seen Dean stand to his defense, voice raised like it never was, actually fighting back this time and Sam didn’t even have to think about it. 

After John stormed off to the bar, Sam packed for them both and he sat next to his brother on the bus to California, promising him _we deserve better, man. We’ll be ok._

(12)  
Arriving home to find Sammy alone in the motel room was enough to get angry. Finding no food, no money left, made it slightly easier to keep calm.

Sam wore a somber look when John asked about Dean, something dark lurking around the corners as he shrugged. John didn’t get it until Dean got home carrying groceries like a trophy, lips swollen, dark marks on his too thin face. Dean didn’t say a word. John stared at him, his heart breaking open while Dean stared back levelly with a bruised dignity no fifteen year old should know how to carry. 

(13)  
Back in the day, Dean never seriously considered college. Not because he didn't want it, but because he knew he shouldn't. That's why it hurts when Sam lords Stanford over him like it's the ultimate goal that Dean couldn't possibly understand, like it's worth more than the four extra years of adolescence he gave Sam by giving up his own dreams.

(14)  
After they’d averted the apocalypse, after Sam had died and come back twice, after Castiel had been made an angel again, after Sam’s soul had been restored, after 40 years in hell and 31 years of fighting, on a Thursday in August, Dean Winchester just- stopped. Sam found him later, unresponsive but awake, staring blankly ahead. It wasn’t supernatural. It wasn’t physical. It was just Dean sitting there, catatonic, docile to anyone’s prodding to act but not there anymore. It was just Dean’s way of saying ‘enough’, his uncomplicated goodbye, a quiet self-immolation no deal could undo.

(15)  
Truthfully, John didn’t often get involved in his sons’ after school activities. He’d gone to a couple of Sam’s soccer games and signed whatever forms Dean needed, but as long as they got involved in team sports that didn’t interfere with their training schedules, all was good with him. 

Which is probably why, when he found out the team Dean had been joining in his last three schools wasn’t so much football as the _cheerleading_ squad, he was a little flabbergasted. Sam just smirked at him as they watched Dean lift pretty girls over his head with a sunny smile. 

(16)  
A broken arm in his line of work was a pain in the ass. He’d already overstayed his welcome at Bobby’s with his bitching, leaving Sam with three boring weeks before he could go on his next hunt. He decided to stop for research and only had to set eyes on the local university’s religious studies professor before his enforced break got a lot more interesting. 

“Sam Singer,” he introduced himself to the green eyed stranger who smiled at him from behind thin reading glasses and let his hand linger in the handshake when he said “Dean Harvelle. A pleasure.” 

(17)  
Sam doesn’t know what he expects once the war is won. Maybe to have to bury his brother now Michael is done with him, maybe be forced to institutionalize him somewhere, maybe spend the rest of his life nursing Dean’s empty shell. But certainly not to have Dean open his eyes and stretch languidly on the bed, asking for coffee and “none of that girly shit, Samantha, I earned a goddamn Americano”. Certainly not have Dean awkwardly petting Sam’s head as Sam hugs Dean to an inch of his fucking stupid, reckless and ridiculous life.

(18)  
There came a point where it became a game. At first he honestly cried and fought uselessly against his bindings, begging something, anything, for help and was forced to watch as any and all who tried were slaughtered before him. Once he accepted his place though, once Sam’s touch and power became his whole world, playing the victim was just fun. Watching all those people’s ludicrous attempts to save him from Sam and watching Sam kill them like ants while Dean sat curled in Sam’s lap was just excellent foreplay. 

(19)  
Minutes apart, that’s how Castiel perceives his interactions with Dean Winchester as he travels between Heaven and Earth. He knows- lived through it for months that felt more endless than his millions of years of existence- that for the Winchesters time moves differently. So Castiel moves in and out of the earthly realm with ridiculous regularity for an eternal being, because if he doesn’t, if he lingers in Heaven’s battles, then he could miss Dean’s entire existence between one breath and the next and he won’t allow it. Dean needs him and Castiel relishes being a part of his life.

(20)  
_He won't talk, he won't walk, he won't recognize you, he won't remember, he might not hear, he won't be the same, he won't be able to feed himself. The blow was too hard, the fracture was too severe, the clot was too large, the brain was too hurt, the damage was too extensive_. He won't, too much, the end. Limp hand cradled in his larger ones, Sam just wants to see Dean’s green eyes open again. Just that.

(21)  
The tally was on 46 and counting, all those faces that would never see their families again. Sam thought he should maybe feel guilty about it, but killing kept his brother calm. Fresh blood in his hands quieted the voices in Dean’s head and replaced them with a soothing mantra, forty-six names on repeat that Dean would hum to himself as Sam drove them somewhere new, looking for forty-seven. 

(22)  
Of the Pit, Sam didn’t remember anything. When he tried to peek behind that wall, he felt only despair, loneliness and pain that had no source and no reprieve, suffering on an oppressing loop of darkness from within and outside him. 

Of the Pit, Dean remembered everything. Excruciating details of every taunt and torture fitted inside forty years of suffering, a Technicolor replay of the shattering of his psyche and his conversion into a twisted wretch of himself.

That they were both still capable of love, compassion and loyalty was proof that neither had deserved any of it, God knew.

(23)  
"Is it time, yet?" and it wasn't, but what difference did it make? A minute or ten before midnight, the important thing was how proud Sammy looked when Dean officially declared him part of the Winchester 'men' now that he made the change into double digits. Dean did what he could and as far as birthday presents went, and even if this year he’d had no money he was counting this one as a win.

(24)  
He’s sick of this. Three months of undercover infiltration and Sam can feel his skin chafing with the need to be _himself_ just for a day, to be able to breathe outside the seedy life he’s been submerged in. But Sam hangs on until the day he’s finally taken in to see the head of the operation, led right to the house where the sick fuck has kept Agent Dean Winchester strung out on drugs for his sick pleasure and only then does Sam let his hatred pour out of him, one bullet at a time. 

(25)  
To be quite honest, the only reason Sam Wesson backed off in that elevator was the freaked out look Dean Smith gave him when he said he ‘wasn’t like that’. Sam agreed he wasn’t either just to put Dean at ease, but really, it’s not often that the literal man of your dreams walks into the elevator with you. Sam wasn’t about to screw it up by being too eager. 

Dean was gorgeous and Sam just knew they belonged together, whether ghosts were real or not. He’d just have to be sneakier about getting some time alone with him. 

(26)  
One day, fifteen year old Dean woke up speaking to angels. 

Neither John nor Sam could get a coherent sentence out of him, only talk of destinies, demons and warnings that Sammy should always tell the prince ‘no’. Desperate, John raced them to Missouri’s doorstep and she looked very sad when she said _not psychic John, your boy has gone and lost his mind_. 

Too many years after he’d been institutionalized, Sam came back for Dean. His brother welcomed him with open arms and Sam listened to every one of Dean’s prophecies before telling the Prince of Lies ‘no’.

(27)  
Of course there were downsides to Sam having been so overprotected as a child. For example, when he'd been around nine or so, Sam hadn't seen anything wrong with going to his new friend's house to play videogames. He’d only clued in to something being off when Dean ran to him in blind panic, kicked the 35 year old creep in the nuts twice and dragged Sam away by an arm, cursing at him the whole way home.

(28)  
What Dean finds most disturbing about Castiel’s scrutinizing gaze- other than _everything_ \- is that he looks at Dean like he can see so much good in him that he can't even comprehend the need to hide it. It's that he looks at him like he knows him too well for jokes or lies to matter.

(29)  
"You're kidding." Sam muttered when his jaw managed to close again, mesmerized by the- was that glitter? He was dreaming. That was the only explanation for Dean's... outfit. He wasn't even looking at the black G-string. He really wasn't. 

"I'm up here." Dean said, not even embarrassed as he grinned, doing a little shimmy that Sam- was not thinking about. _Ever_. "It's not that bad!" Dean said, perfectly calm. "We're on an actual case involving male stripping! Finally! You had to learn about this someday. You never wondered how all my 'poker winnings' came in so many one dollar bills?"

(30)  
Sam didn’t surprise anyone by landing in federal prison with a murder rep before hitting thirty. He’d always been a violent fucker and his rage blackouts were forewarning enough. For Sam, the shock was finding something good inside that hellhole, a feeling other than cold rage. He found it in his pretty cellmate, jailed for killing his abusive father with a crowbar, found it in touching Dean’s scarred skin in the dark and hearing Dean whisper his name, the only sound to ever leave his lips. It’d never be heaven, but for them it was as close as they’d get.

(31)  
Normally when Sam was hurt or sick, Dean was the one with the easy affection. Despite his posturing, Dean was more naturally inclined to comfort through touch, a trait neither Dad nor Sam shared. Sam was more likely to get Dean some magazines or food than to run a hand through Dean’s hair. But when it was bad, when Dean was pale and trying not to cry in pain, when he was quiet and scared like now, Sam had no problem climbing into bed with Dean and hugging the crap out of him if it helped, natural inclination be damned.

(32)  
Dean found it hilarious. Despite all his self-loathing, he’d found love for some past version of himself dumped here by angels and left to rot. But younger Dean- the ‘good one’ as Cas called him- was the only bright spot left in the camp. Still caring when someone had to be put down, still worried about Cas’ debauched life, about how Dean dealt with the strain of leadership. It’s funny in a twisted way, but that doesn’t stop Dean from reaching out to him, privately bent on finding out just what it took to make that brightness stay alive somehow.

(33)  
John killed the Yellow Eyed Demon in 1998. It was a long bloody mission that ended with Daniel Elkins buried behind his cabin, the Colt in John’s hand and a trail of bodies that included both the bastard’s demonic children and the demon. John went to federal prison and Dean took over as Sam’s guardian. The boys changed their last name; Dean became a fireman, Sam an architect and neither of them ever visited John. Last he heard he had three grandchildren and both his kids’ wives had lived past their babies’ six month birthday. It had to be enough.

(34)  
It’s not like they stopped by the roadside every few days to gaze thoughtfully into the horizon, sitting on the Impala’s hood to count stars or talk about their feelings. They stopped when both of them were exhausted, when someone was about to puke, when the Impala made a weird noise or okay, sometimes, when they just needed contact, breathless kisses and roaming hands, heat and need and the taste of coffee on their breath, rarely any words, just touch and after, when they were languid and loose, they’d catch their breath together, beer in hand, them against the world.

(35)  
When Dean finally snapped, tired of his brother looking at him sideways, tired of everybody avoiding eye-contact, he grabbed Sam’s head and forced Sam to face him in the middle of a parking lot, forced Sam to look at the sigil Alastair had carved into Dean’s cheekbone and said _I’m still the fucking prettier one, bitch_ in a voice he pretended wasn’t shaking. 

Sam looked too angry to laugh, too sad to smile, but he did both anyway, tracing a finger down Dean’s face and saying _You’re gorgeous_ with so much sincerity, Dean actually smiled back. 

(36)  
In another world, Sam met Dean when he went cruising the streets of Baton Rouge. At sixteen, Dean was a vision that Sam had to have, and while he was high at the time, Sam didn’t make decisions lightly. Dean was excellent cocksucker and a better fuck but the best about him was his determination to live. Sam planned to kill him when he dragged him out of the trunk but Dean knelt real sweet and promised to be a good boy sir please, which amused Sam enough to work. He had to admire initiative in such a pretty toy.

(37)  
“You think you’re real fucking slick, don’t you?” 

Dean would be more worried if Bobby didn’t sound downright amused, so Dean just grinned. 

“Velvety smooth, dude!” He called, hurrying past the older hunter to hit the shower before Dad caught him sneaking in. But when he was undressing in the bathroom Dean spotted the dark bruise high on his throat, teeth marks evident. No freaking way he could have gotten that locked in his room as he’d been supposed to be, short of a vampire attacking him and weren’t those extinct? 

“Son of a bitch!”

(38)  
“Your mother wouldn’t have wanted this for you,” John told Dean, breathless with pain and guilt so sharp it was shredding him. Dean took the words like the blow they were meant to be, but he didn’t back down, eyes flashing when he simply said “She would have wanted better than you for us, maybe, but I did it for Sammy and she couldn’t have wanted more from me.” Sam got in the way before John could hit Dean, hugging his brother close to his side as he led them both to their room, eyes stabbing accusations over Dean’s shoulder. 

(39)  
Sam turned into an idiot the day Dean turned into a chick. Dean hates Sam fighting with anyone that looks at Dean for too long and that Sam can't help but try to open every single freaking door for Dean now. But the way he's nicer and less bitchy now? The way he compliments Dean or sometimes looks at him like he forgets Dean is his _brother_? Well, he'd never admit it out loud, but Dean will take it if that's as close to a relationship with Sam as he can get.

(40)  
In Hell, Dean finds a jagged comfort in giving in. He can’t hide anything, so he lets the agony rip through him until it starts feeling right. That’s when it stops. Dean cries for days for the pain to come back, but his body re-grows all its missing bits and still Dean cries, because he’d learned to crawl with his disfigurations and this reprieve is just another layer torn away. When Alistair comes back, Dean kisses his feet and thanks him for every chunk he cuts away to feed Dean with, relishes the taste of blood on his tongue. 

(41)  
Out of all the secrets Sam knew Dean was keeping from his time without a soul, Sam didn’t expect the tattoos on his brother’s back. Stark black lines against Dean’s pale skin, spelling out ancient protection symbols and angelic sigils Castiel undoubtedly had a hand in, an intricate design against almost everything Sam knows about. Dean shrugs off his inquiries about it, unknowingly answering with that gesture alone. These marks on Dean’s back, shielding him, are there because Sam wasn’t. Sam can’t help tracing them after Dean falls asleep, kissing one pale shoulder in unspoken apology.

(42)  
Sam’s rage is delicious. Dean enjoys watching it from the sidelines, the movements of his body as he fights other inmates off, breaking bones like twigs and using his size to intimidate, those same muscles that made Dean feel safe turning deadly with an ease that should be frightening. But Dean’s not scared. This time he’s let Zachariah touch him on purpose, just to see Sam choke the life from his frame, just to know that Sam will kill for him no question, that Sam would have killed Daddy for him if he’d been there at the time. 

(43)  
The thing nobody gets is that Dean doesn’t just hear the angels, he sees them. They come and sit with him sometimes, when he’s lonely. His guardian has the prettiest blue eyes and his wings are monstrous dark things that Dean likes snuggling into. There’s also the Bright Man, the prince of it all, who whispers pretty lies to Dean and tells him _soon Michael, soon Sam will come for you and we’ll be together forever_. Dean likes being Dean though and he loves Sammy too much to want him to be the Bright Man. He’d rather Sammy said no.

(44)  
The minute Dean figured out Mary used to be a hunter, he was relieved. He thought maybe he could reconcile his life as something Mary would have understood and maybe even been proud of. Then she turned huge tearful eyes on his direction and told him what her greatest fear for the future of her children was, and Dean felt the rush of shame and longing hit him like a kick to the chest.

(45)  
Sam was two floors down when he heard Dean shout and saw him being thrown over the railing above him. The separation saved Dean’s life, giving Sam just enough time to grab him as he flew by. Sam dislocated his right arm and possibly snapped his wrist, but he caught Dean and pulled him back to safety, both of them bathed in cold sweat at the close call. 

“Shit, Alice,” Sam gasped “No more burgers before falling down the rabbit-hole.” 

“Oh bite me,” Dean muttered and they both smiled shakily before heading back to finish the hunt.

(46)  
He doesn't talk about it. It's just something that happened, this creep that got a hold of him when he was eleven. It's fine, Dean's dealt with it. Sometimes though, he can't help but think if it hadn't happened, guys wouldn't catch his eye like they do at times, and maybe he wouldn't get the looks he does, like they know, like they can see it on his skin and it makes him fair game.

(47)  
“Don’t think this evens the scales,” Sam muttered, opening his mouth for another spoonful. Dean didn’t answer right away, making sure Sam finished his lunch, but he didn’t bother hiding his smirk.

“Having me play nursemaid for your giant ass while your arms heal not enough?” Dean asked lightly, shrugging at Sam’s glare. “How many times can I say I’m sorry?”

Sam had the audacity to pout at him. 

“Fine. How about this then?” Dean asked thoughtfully, opening Sam’s jeans and moving his head down.

“It’s a start.” The little bitch said and Dean bit his thigh just for that.

(48)  
Since losing his hearing, what Dean misses the most is listening to his music and being able to judge if the sounds coming out of his mouth are the right ones. Well, that, and the ability to read someone’s tone, which would maybe give him a hint as to what Sam means when he signs 'I'm sorry', 'I can't do this anymore' and 'I'm leaving'.

(49)  
Bobby knows that after being torn apart by hellhounds, dogs were far from Dean’s best friends these days. He doesn’t do it to be cruel. He does it because he remembers that boy rolling around with Rumsfield in the dirt and remembers Dean loving a dog’s easy affection. So he gets a new guard dog and doesn’t warn the brothers about it until Dean is pale and backed against Sam, staring at the puppy blankly while his brother steadies him. It takes a while, but when Bobby catches Dean carefully petting the sleeping pup he can’t help the stupid grin.

(50)  
It was a stupid impulse, instinctive and childish, but as they stepped onto the oncologist office Sam grabbed Dean’s hand and held it tight in his. Even with the difference from their childhood, his hand now bigger than Dean’s, the strength he found in that grip was the same that had pulled him through thick and thin and it was only right to hold onto it now as they waited for the verdict. Dean didn’t shake him off, his hand steady despite his pale face. Like that, together, they faced the doctor and waited.


End file.
